


I love you.

by Apiaristic



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Shameless Smut, Smut, mostly angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-23 12:17:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20242744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apiaristic/pseuds/Apiaristic
Summary: We fall apart as it gets dark, I'm in your arms in central park, there's nothing I can do but say I can't escape the way I love you.





	I love you.

**Author's Note:**

> Listen to 'I love you', by Billie Eilish to help set the mood.  
Or don't. 
> 
> This really just like- A short word-vomit of angst.

"I love you."

Whispered through feathers and breathed onto pale skin, an angel sung his praises and wrote psalms onto the heart of his lover, gentle fingers brushing across the delicate bare of a chest that was aching, still aching.  
He was sitting behind him, his arms around his waist and his white-haired head pressed to his lovers bony spine, holding him while he cried. The demons tears burnt his face, his chest heaving with weak sobs. He could feel the other shift, feel him brush fingers over his shoulder, once-peppered with bruises and hickeys from nights of passion and eager desperation, when he would dig his fingers into the soft flesh of his lovers hips and snap his own, chasing ecstasy to the rhythm of an angel begging, when he would lean down and kiss away the tears left on his lovers face from moments ago, when the demons hand was around the heat of his angel, his love, waiting for that word to drop from the others lips like rain before he would let him have his high, watching the way his chest heaved and his body writhed, cradled like a doll in the demons arms. 

He remembered the way Aziraphale would cling to him afterwards, tangled in his embrace, his face pressed to his lovers chest, glowing in their afterhaze before they'd drift off. 

"I love you."  
Cooed before meals, with fingers intertwined beneath the table, murmured like a prayer that lit up a weary demon's cheeks. 

His cheeks were wet, now, stained with tears and the victim of the failed choked-back weepings of a broken man, hunched over, hugging himself.

"I love you."  
They whispered into his ear, his breath cold on Crowley neck, his fingers colder. He was warm once. Crowley remembered his warmth, the excitement of his grin and the bright of his eyes, the way they sparkled and matched the sky when Crowley did something good, whenever he spoke about books, passionate and eager to share what he knew. He remembered the warm of his skin under the demons fingers, the way he arched into his touch and mewled like a kitten, innocent and soft in all of himself. 

He remembered the warm of their last meeting. Though, of course, Crowley hadn't known it was the last.  
He hadn't known the extent of heavens rage, the grudges held by countless angels.  
He hadn't known that Aziraphale's reassurances would be pointless.

All he knew was this love, this warmth, this fire kindled between them, lit to never go out. All he knew was the way Aziraphale shivered when he moved to kiss him, the promises whispered into his ear of time they would spend together when he came home.  
When he came home tomorrow.  
A quick trip.  
Wrapped in his arms under a streetlamp in the rain. Everywhere, so cold, except for right where they were, pressed together. 

"I love you."

A final promise, a final few words before Aziraphale had stepped away and then left.  
A final kiss blown to the sky before Crowley would turn back to his Bentley and ride home, alone, to crawl into an empty bed, to wait, laying awake.

He never came home.  
Weeks would pass, and Aziraphale never came home.

Sitting in his bed, the room dark and cold, a demon wailed, kicking away candles and tearing at a sigil written on the sheets in marker in earnest, desperate to separate himself from the apparition with cold hands and cold breath, that reminded him of nothing but pain.

"Aziraphale,"  
A broken sob, ripped from his throat as a figure sank to their knees and pressed their face to the edge of the bed, aching.

"I love you."


End file.
